"Are you sure he is safe?" asks Esther. "Are you sure it was asthma?"

"Oh, yes. Did you not see the white foam? That is asthma."

"You do not come often enough, doctor. I know Mr. Lockwin would be
angry if he knew."

"My horse will be well to-morrow and I can call twice. But the child
has passed the crisis. You must soon give him air. Let him play a
while in the back yard. His lungs must be accustomed to the cold of
winter."

"I presume Mr. Lockwin will take us south in December."

"Yes, I guess he'd better."

But Esther does not let Davy go out. The rattle is still in the little
chest.

Lockwin is home at one o'clock in the morning. He visits Davy's bed.
How beautiful is the sleeping child! "My God! if he had died!"

Lockwin is up and away at seven o'clock in the morning. "Be careful of
the boy, Esther," he says. "What does the doctor seem to think?"

"He gives the same medicine," says Esther, "but Davy played his
orguinette for over an hour yesterday."

"He did! Good! Esther, that lifts me up. I wish I could have heard